


A Rush of Blood to the Head

by rsharpe



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 07:54:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/305606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsharpe/pseuds/rsharpe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Viggo gets a very personal call from Orlando.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rush of Blood to the Head

Viggo was pondering the meaning of life. Well, the meaning of an actor's life. He'd woken at 4:30 this morning and had been in the costume trailer by 5:30. The make-up chair was next, then he'd been driven to the secluded area where filming was scheduled for the day.

It was now almost 3:00 p.m. and they'd gotten two scenes finished to Peter's satisfaction. Two very, very short scenes. Spotting a crewmember he knew, Viggo waved him over to the tree he was leaning on and bumed a cigarette. The crewmember complied and even gave Viggo a book of matches proclaiming that "Casey's Bar and Grill" served numerous alcoholic beverages and the best steaks in town. The little piece of cardboard, however, failed to mention *which* town.

Viggo swiftly lit up. After only two satisfying pulls on the cigarette, the same crewman was quickly making his way back to the lounging actor.

"Jesus H. Christ! It's taken an hour and a half to get ready for this dammed shot and now I don't even have time to finish one fucking cigarette?"

But instead of calling him back to the set, Viggo was handed a cell phone with the top already flipped up and the antenna extended.

Viggo obediently took the phone and blew out one more stream of smoke before acknowledging his presence with a wary "Hello?"

"Guess what I'm wearing, Viggo? Or should I say *not* wearing?"

The mental image of Orlando on the set of Troy wearing leather armor, boots and probably a lascivious grin tore Viggo away from his bout of boredom and straight into a no-longer-bored-but-now-sporting-a-raging-hard-on mode.

"Orlando . . . "

"Yeah, Viggo?"

"This is *not* a good time. I'm on set, I'm in costume, and . . . "

"Well, fancy that, mate. I'm on set too. And I'm in costume. Shall I describe it to you? Or would you rather . . . "

Viggo growled a menacing, "NO!" Orlando, of course, ignored him.

"I know you liked me in the Elf armor, didn't you? I think you'll like this armor even better. And instead of leggings . . . "

"Orlando, I'm not going to listen to you. I *cannot* listen to you. The guy who brought me this phone is standing just barely out of earshot and . . . Orlando? What number did you call to reach me? Whose cell phone is this?"

"P.J.'s, of course."

"You called me on Peter Jackson's cell phone to talk dirty to me and give me a hard-on knowing full well that I can't do a damm thing about it? Is the heat in Malta getting to you? Or are you just in a particularly sadistic mood?"

"Yes. No. Yes. Now, as I was saying . . . "

"I'm disconnecting this call now, Orli. I won't even be able to walk if I'm called for this shot anytime within the next, oh, five or six hours. My dick is so hard a cat couldn't scratch it and if you were here I'd be out of my clothes faster than a French whore. Now, are you satisfied?"

"You're such a romantic, Viggo."

"Orlando Fucking Bloom, you . . . are . . . going . . . to . . . pay . . . dearly . . . for . . . this."

"Now, Viggo. You always said you loved it when I talked dirty to you."

"I do. When you're fucking HERE and I can do something about it!"

"Uh, Viggo? Your blood pressure? You sound a little, uh, strained?"

Viggo took the phone away from his ear for a moment and just stared at it. He tried breathing steadily. He counted to ten. In English. In Danish. In Spanish. And finally, in Elvish.

"If my blood pressure was checked right now, it would be low. Do you know why, Orlando? Because every fucking drop of blood I have is in my fucking dick!"

Orlando was laughing so hard he couldn't reply for a full minute. Finally he took a deep, steadying breath.

"Well, you always said you wondered how the adrenaline rush I get from sky-diving or bungee jumping felt. Now I've given you a small sample. So, how do you like it?"

Viggo's voice turned eerily calm when he spoke again. He had remembered that these pick-up shots were going to be over for him in a few days. And Orlando was, he knew, virtually trapped on Malta for several more weeks.

"I really do have to go now, Orlando. I've got some flight reservations to make. I've never been to Malta and I'm rather . . . eager . . . to get there. There's a certain very young, very foolish British actor who owes me and, Orlando, I am going to collect."

Click.

-end-


End file.
